


crawling back home

by keithkin (ghozting)



Series: aphasia [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: ...until they aren't., Ambiguous Relationships, Canon Related, Drama & Romance, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26435335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghozting/pseuds/keithkin
Summary: “You are a complete jerk,” Keith growls. His brows quiver as his eyes flick between Lance’s own. It’s easier to push the heat in his words aside and see the vulnerability residing there after knowing him for so long. But even then, Lance only tries to ignore it as Keith shifts further against Lance. “I mean,fuck, Lance! I know you’re not dumb, but are you an idiot?”Lance lifts a shaky hand and pokes Keith’s cheek. “I can’t believe you missed me, Mullet.”Managing a relationship while you're processing trauma is never easy. So how do you move forward when you refuse to take the first step? Here's a hint: you can't.
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Series: aphasia [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921564
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	crawling back home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential Triggers in This Chapter:
> 
> \- unhealthy coping mechanisms  
> \- mentions of trauma-related memory loss  
> \- descriptions of imprisonment and violence  
> \- descriptions of vomitting  
> \- mentions of starvation  
> \- brief descriptions of dissociation

. . .

When you're used to a lack of meaning, ambiguity usually feels like the safest bet. And with that vagueness, it's a free-for-all, right? That makes sense, doesn't it? He’s been rolling the thought around in his head for so long, he's positive the pressure of his ever-growing anxiety has crushed it into a diamond.

It’s been quite a bit of time since Lance escaped Drymdux Penitentiary with Keith – long enough that there are memorials for the lives lost under that specific thumb of the Galra Empire – and yet there is still a wild animal trapped behind his ribs. He made the mistake of unlocking the cage five weeks ago, but all that did was give Lance a tour of his dread’s hometown before it crawled back up his throat to hibernate. 

So maybe that’s why his palms are sweating. Maybe that's why he's flipping through a catalog of excuses until he can settle on something that fits just right.

The fear is still there, and it isn't going anyway any time soon. That took him a five-week vacation to Retraumatization Town to realize.

And all he left was a _note_.

 _But it’s okay,_ Lance tells himself as the elevator dings and the doors part, revealing a crowded penthouse party. _Because you're okay. And once everyone sees you're okay, it’ll be whatever. Just play it cool._

He can play it cool. Totally.

It's fine.

…Except, it's not.

He knows that as soon as he takes the first step out of the elevator, he’s screwed up. Contrary to popular belief, Lance can own the fact he's pretty moronic at times. When it comes down to forgetting birthdays, washing his dishes, or even tying his own shoelaces, details that should be relatively normal, or even considered vital, have a tendency to slip his mind.

So, no. Lance isn't afraid to admit he's a moron.

And whether their title is definitive or not doesn't really matter in the end, because Keith cares about the dumb things he does, and he isn't afraid to make a scene in the middle of a gala.

A sharp groan slips past his lips as his back hits the bricks. An ache he’s unfortunately grown familiar with spreads through him – one that comes with age and the fuzzy memories of everything he’s done. And even though he loves to compare himself to a bottle of fine wine, being shoved into a wall sucks big time.

There’s no denying the fact that making rock-hard excuses for his dumbassery is a shitty move, too. Sometimes putting up a fight is a lot harder than taking a beating.

Lance is lucky that instead of the gnarly face of a Galra soldier, Keith is standing there with his typical umbrage and all. The sight’s almost comforting, and though he can list a dozen of other expressions he’d rather see Keith have stretched across his features, he’s feeling a little nostalgic and, well... sometimes bad habits die hard. So when a lazy smirk begins to curl on Lance’s lips and his eyes go half-lidded and indifferent, he doesn’t even think about stopping himself.

“Is this a type of new greeting I missed out on, or are you just happy to see me?”

He should've stopped himself.

Keith presses his forearm against Lance’s chest harder, unkempt eyebrows shielding his dark eyes as he scowls up at him. There’s something sharp behind the fury on his face and a nervous chuckle slips past Lance’s lips. His heart’s suspended in his chest and it feels like he’s waiting for it to drop like it did every time he and Keith fought when they were teenagers. 

And, if he’s being honest, he hasn’t seen Keith this angry at him in a _long_ time. It’s kind of thrilling.

Maybe he’s a bit of a masochist.

“You are a complete jerk,” Keith growls. His brows quiver as his eyes flick between Lance’s own. It’s easier to push the heat in his words aside and see the vulnerability residing there after knowing him for so long. But even then, Lance only tries to ignore it as Keith shifts further against Lance. “I mean, _fuck_ , Lance! I know you’re not dumb, but are you an idiot?”

Lance lifts a shaky hand and pokes Keith’s cheek. “I can’t believe you missed me, Mullet.”

Something like hurt flashes behind Keith’s eyes, but he leans back with an affronted scoff. And like the thought is unbelievable, Keith throws his arms over his chest and looks the other way, face twisted like he’s been forced drink spoiled milk. It’s almost funny.

Almost.

Taking a deep breath, one that ends up sounding more like a sigh than anything, Lance anxiously smooths out the wrinkles Keith left on his suit. As the (retired) Blue Paladin of Voltron, it’s important to look at least a _little_ put together during official banquets, even if he's shoved up against the wall in the back of the room.

“The team hasn’t heard from you in a month.”

Lance looks up, pausing as he adjusts the cuffs of his suit. Even with the orchestra playing some slow song and the low chatter of the mingling guests, it’d be impossible for Lance to miss the rawness in Keith's voice. It’d be impossible to miss how he still pointedly avoids his gaze, how he curls in on himself.

Lance’s hand drops to his side, limp.

“Five weeks and three days to be exact,” he says back. There’s a trained nonchalance in his voice he wishes he tucked away before he spoke. Keith clenches his hands into white-knuckled fists, and if Lance were to close his eyes, he could picture this moment ten years younger – leather gloves, cracking voices, anger sprouting from something they're both too idiotic to name.

“What happened?” His desperation is masked by such thin patience, Keith might as well be gritting his teeth. “Where’d you _go?”_

Hands fidgeting, Lance moves them to fumble with his loose, navy tie. Keith turns his body back towards him, and the small gesture only makes Lance’s stomach roll with unease even further. The bands holding up his heart snap one at a time. 

He had known coming to the party would raise a lot of questions, and he knew he’d have to have some sort of excuse for his disappearance, but...

Lance and Keith’s eyes meet.

Lance opens his mouth. Closes it.

Somehow, Keith understands.

“I’m really happy to see you, Keith,” Lance offers, his voice so soft it’s like he had just mouthed the words. But it sounds like a lie. It _feels_ like a lie, what with the way his entire body fights the urge to draw back.

Lance has watched a lot of people die in his life. Some were gutting deaths of people he had been unable to save, and others were by the gun slung on his hip and his own trembling hands.

Right now, watching Keith feels a lot like both a failure and a homicide.

Why doesn’t he say that?

He wishes he could say that. 

He stays quiet. Time spans between them indefinitely as Keith collects himself and shakes his head. And as much as Lance wishes he could explain what happened the night he left Keith alone in bed, why he had left for so long in the first place, Keith takes a step away from Lance, then another.

And just like that, his eyes rip away from Lance’s own, and he looks so heavy as he turns around and walks away.

He should chase after him. Lance knows this would be the perfect time to chase after him, to grab his hand and explain how scared he is of the complex nature between the two of them, how after everything he doesn’t know how to be somebody for someone, how to be somebody for Keith after everything this war put them through, but instead...he just watches Keith go, for now.

Lance collapses against the back wall. His shoulders fall slack underneath this baggage he’s been carrying for a long time and his eyes flutter shut. The action reminds him of those dramas he’d watch back in high school, the ones with the lovesick idiots and happy endings.

Distantly, he craves a long drag of a cigarette.

But it’d be useless, anyway. The bitter taste lingering in his mouth is sobering enough.

It takes some time, but eventually, he picks himself up. Forces himself to put the thoughts of the conversation with Keith to the side. There’s no way he’s going to sit there in the middle of the party feeling sorry for himself, he has the rest of his life to do that. 

The whole reason he came to the party tonight was so he didn’t have to spend another second alone. The thought of going home makes his hands moist and his stomach twist like a rope. Going back to the Castle means being alone. It means thinking about why he left. Where he went.

Suppressing a shudder, Lance decides he won’t let his inevitable dispute with Keith hang over him like a bad omen. There’s too much on his plate as is. Until he finds Keith, the only place that mess will fit is on the back burner.

After a few hours, Lance makes his rounds at the party, mingling with allies of Voltron like he still has something to fight for. Though the party is massive, taking up the entire penthouse in one of the largest skyscrapers on the planet, he does end up finding the rest of the Team.

He thanks God they’re more professional than Keith. They welcome him back with sad eyes and forced smiles and offer him pats on the shoulders (and bone-crushing hugs) when no one is looking, and with each word shared, he feels like things are getting closer and closer to normal.

As close as they can, at the very least.

Lance is just grateful he’s not on a ship right now.

But as more time passes, and the party doesn’t get any closer to winding down, he grows tired. The room is stuffy, both architecturally and guest-wise. Through the wide windows, he can see the city skyline and the bustling nightlife hundreds of feet below, and though he isn’t afraid of heights, the thought makes him dizzy and in desperate need of air. Once a waiter points him toward one of the handfuls of balconies, Lance holds his breath and sets off.

It’s an accident when he finds Keith on the balcony, leaning against the frail railings like he doesn't care if he stumbles off the edge. The hunched over, hardly present look _screams_ Keith, but there’s a looseness to his frame that’s worrying. It’s like he’s melting into the floor, slowly succumbing to the exhaustion he's known all his life.

“I’m not in the mood for another lecture, Princess,” Keith grumbles as the patio door clicks shut, muffling the chorus of laughter and string instruments. He flicks something off the flat surface he rests his arms on without turning around.

“Oof, I don’t think I'm a big fan of that pet name, my man.” Lance stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks as he steps forward. His throat is tight when he adds, “Little bit too frilly for me, don’t you think?”

Keith rolls his eyes with his whole body. “You _really_ don't know how to give a guy some peace of mind.”

A warm laugh bubbles out of Lance as he settles next to Keith. He doesn't try to meet Keith’s eye, but instead, he dusts the surface of the brick railing off before tracing the grout with the tip of his index finger.

“I don't think I’ve brought an ounce of peace into your life since we’ve met.”

“So you're self-aware?” Keith breathes out a silent sigh. “You'd think you’d make the conscious decision to stop being a jackass, then.”

Lance tears his eyes away from the railing and looks at Keith. He's seen Keith draped in the moonlight before, but it never fails to send something warm through his chest. If Lance had memorized the way Keith’s skin glowed and how his black and silver-lined hair glittered, he doesn’t think he would have had to come back so soon.

But the sad thing about memories is that no matter how tight you grasp is, no matter how hard you hold onto them, they’ll still find a way slip through your fingers.

“Can I...” Lance’s face twists into a sour expression. “How old were we when it happened?”

Keith clenches his jaw. He looks down at his hands. “Too young,” he answers, though it sounds like he's biting his tongue. “You were twenty, I was twenty-one.”

“And how long—”

“Eight months.” Keith finally looks at him. His eyes are far away. “We were imprisoned for eight months.”

There's a pause as Lance swallows that down. He then mumbles, “Felt a lot longer than that.”

Keith only holds Lance’s gaze for a few seconds before he looks back to the city skyline. This planet reminds him of Earth, and he knows Keith can see the resemblance, too.

“So, you went to the memorial.”

It’s not a question.

Lance’s eyes fall shut as he sighs. “I know I slipped up, Keith, but do you really have to rub it in my face right now?”

“I’m not rubbing it in—”

“Yeah, dude, you are!” Lance steps away from the railing as rubs his temples. “You know how hard it is for me, Keith. You know how hard it is for me to remember what happened and how it went down.”

Keith shakes his head, following Lance to the balcony’s door. “That’s not an excuse to go back and…and fuck yourself up again, Lance,” he cries, throwing his hands out. “That isn't slipping up! You left a fucking note and disappeared for a month. And — not only that, but you went alone. You made yourself face that alone.”

Lance pinches the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to steady his breathing as much as possible. Coming back would trigger this fight. He knew that, so why is it still so hard?

He expected Keith to be mad – he knew that as soon as the idea came to his head – but he didn’t think it would be because Keith wanted to self-destruct with him.

“We're supposed to be a team.” Keith shakes his head again, but with the way his whole body is trembling, the movement is curt and shallow. Then he adds, softer, “You knew I would've gone with you, didn’t you?”

That’s what makes Lance look up.

His heart squeezes in his chest, and there's a flash of purple in the back of his mind. Strong hands cupping his. A warm pair of eyes and a smile to match.

Lance’s hand slowly falls back down to his side, limp.

“No,” he admits in a broken syllable.

It’s something he should’ve known, and as Keith recoils like he’s been struck, Lance knows he’s forgotten something major. The picture of Keith carrying him to a cryopod seven years earlier floats at the forefront of his mind, growing clearer and clearer as Keith stares at him with a mix of disbelief and hurt.

He closes his eyes, and his demeanor drops. “What can I do to make this better?” Lance asks.

“Lance...” Keith’s shoulders slump. “I don't...” 

The moment of hesitation has his heart sinking. When Keith falters, it’s like time slows down. His heartbeat stops for a moment too long. It’s like dying, but worse. Worse because he knows he’s alive, and he has to watch Keith consider if he’s too broken to keep around.

His ears start ringing. They aren’t in a relationship, but this feels like a breakup.

"You not gonna tell me? You’re gonna leave it up to me to make it up to you?” Lance scrubs his face, forcing out a laugh as strained as it can get. “I’ll...I’ll pester you to the ends of the Earth. You know I won’t stop until you forgive me. You’re making a big mistake, Mullet.”

When Keith presses his hand against his wrist, Lance fights back the urge to jump out of his skin. Even though he spent the last month of his life without contact, he didn’t expect a warm gesture so soon. Shivers tickle Lance’s spine as Keith’s fingers slip from their grip around the cuffs of his suit to grasp at his hand.

As he drops his arms to his side, limp with shock and exhaustion, Keith’s expression comes into view. Lance isn't sure if he knows how to describe a broken heart, but the way Keith’s looking at him right now might be the closest translation.

Keith’s eyes pass between his and it looks like he’s the one trying to memorize his face this time around. He gives Lance’s hand a tight squeeze and says, “I really hope I am.” before he lets go.

Lance hears how the chatter of the party hushes as the orchestra reaches the end of their final song. He hears how the crowd erupts into applause, and how everything grows muffled once the door clicks shut.

And then everything’s quiet.

“Shit,” Lance breathes out, eyes glazed over to the point where everything in front of him is a blur of dark blue and neon. "Shit.”

  
  
  


< < <

  
  
  


_Three years ago..._

Keith’s stomach rolls as Lance drapes himself over the complimentary bucket in their cell.

Seeing Lance so sick due to shitty oversight makes him angrier than he thought possible. His body shakes with a ruthlessness Keith’s only seen come from the Galra, and though these side-effects of the medicine are worth it if it means they get to survive longer, Keith wishes Zarkon would just smother their flames. This agony has gone on long enough.

His eyes drift to the wall on his left. The scratches in the metal are one of the only things keeping him stable these days – it's not the number, not by a long shot, but it’s the only semblance of time either of them has. When Lance suggested it after their first hour in the prison, laughing as he kicked his feet on the wall and laid back like he was on vacation, Keith had rolled his eyes and followed along.

But then the days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months. The rations on the ship grew fewer in numbers. They traveled billions of miles, from galaxy to galaxy. 

And then they were separated.

Keith shuts his eyes as Lance gags. He shakes his head as if that’ll knock the memory away. It doesn’t.

They’ve only been back together for a few weeks at most, but the days Keith had been left alone in the cell seemed to stretch out for eternity. He remembers the faraway look in Shiro’s eyes, how when he first crashed onto Earth before Voltron banded together, he never really came home. The stories of the Champion are well known in Galra prisons, and though he and Lance are lucky they’re stuck in isolation, the thought of Lance being forced into –

He forces his eyes open. The tallies on the wall are hazy, but as his eyes run along the thin scratches, his surroundings grow clearer, and his tunnel vision subsides.

Lance retches. His vomit splatters into the bucket.

That’s the third time in the last hour he’s thrown up. Usually, the symptoms aren’t this bad for Humans. Apparently, they have stellar immune systems compared to Alteans and the Galra. Then again, Keith’s only thrown up a handful of times since he was given the option of Dhollek or starvation.

There are different symptoms for all races. Keith looks down at the clumps of matted black hair on the floor and tries not to feel vain when there’s a surge of disgust that shoots through his chest. When the first clump of hair fell out a few days ago, Lance only sighed and patted the spot on the cold concrete floor next to him. He then ran his fingers through the tangles, eyes growing further and further away as more strands slipped to the floor.

If something like this happened outside of prison, he thinks Lance would laugh. Not at him – Lance has never been cruel, just a little dense at times – but he’d laugh because there’d be some dumb reason behind it. Maybe Keith would’ve gotten cursed by a witch for saying the wrong thing, or maybe he used a shampoo too strong for his hair. There would’ve been something to smile at.

A tiny part of him in the back of his mind says he misses having a reason to smile, but he squashes the thought down as fast as he can.

“Quiet down in there!” Each word shouted from their guard is punctuated with a bang on the wall.

Keith bites his tongue as Lance glances over at him helplessly. There’s a warning in his eye, one that’s louder than the sickness could ever be, and the tiny gesture has Keith's heart swelling. Though the desire to cuss out the guards is strong, the splint Lance made him from scraps after they beat him is not.

He flexes his hand. His wrist is only fractured, but having Lance’s worried eyes on him makes him feel weird.

Weird like his relatively newfound urge to scoot next to him and brush his sweaty curls out of his eyes. Weird like his urge hold him until the ship gets enough food for the prisoners so they can stop taking those damn pills (and maybe hold him a little bit longer after that, too). Weird like he'd rather die than have Lance be taken away from him all over again.

He might need to steal the bucket from Lance. Just in case.

“I don't wanna do this anymore,” Lance heaves as he gingerly presses his head against the edge of the bucket. A bead of sweat trickles down his temple. “I hate throwing up. I hate it so much. Just have them kill me.”

There’s a stab of panic that comes with those words, and Keith forces back a pained gasp. His eyes are already watery, but his vision swarms with tears as he drags himself across the room so he can settle next to Lance. He doesn’t care if every atom of his body protests this as long as he’s getting closer to Lance.

“Don’t say things like that,” Keith grits out. Saying ‘please’ feels like it’d be too much to do, but as his eyes pass back and forth between Lance’s, a realization settles over him and he nods back to Keith. “This will be over soon. You just have to manage until the Dhollek passes.”

Lance sniffles before he slowly lifts his head and straightens his back. He leans against the wall, shoulder pressing against Keith’s, then breathes out a heavy sigh. His eyes flutter shut only for a second before he tilts his head and looks over at Keith with a tight frown stretched on his lips.

“It’s so hot.”

Keith nods and wipes away the vomit at the corner of Lance’s lips. His skin is boiling despite the temperature of the room and Keith lifts his hand to press against Lance’s forehead. As Lance leans into his touch, eyes drooping shut at the cool comparison, Keith exhales a deep breath.

“You’re definitely hotter than I am,” he mumbles.

Lance peeks an eye open. “Don’t put yourself down like that,” he jokes with a flat voice. “I have a thing for balding men.”

Keith laughs and immediately regrets it when his side stings. This time he isn’t so lucky trying to hide the pain and he tips forward, hand pressing against his bruised rib. It’s not the worst feeling, and it fades faster than the rest of his aches, but it still sucks.

Lance frowns and helps drag Keith back up. “You said it stopped hurting.”

“It did,” Keith lies. “Must have...laughed wrong.”

Lance huffs out a silent chuckle and Keith’s lips quirk into a barely-there smile. He’d kill to hear a real laugh from Lance again, but that’s the closest he’s heard in days, so he’ll take it.

“There’s no wrong way to laugh, Mullet,” Lance promises before he pauses. His face twists into something bitter. “Don’t know if I can call you that anymore, though.”

The amusement slips from Keith’s face and he cringes. “Does it look that bad?”

Lance wipes his hand on his pants before he reaches out, bony hands shaking, and brushes through the back of Keith’s hair. His fingers snag on a few knots and get tangled in the pieces that are in the middle of falling out, but if he closes his eyes, the feeling is almost nice.

“When we get out of here, you might have to shave it. Just so it grows back even.” 

“I haven’t shaved my head in years.” Keith groans. “I’m going to look so weird.”

“Never took you to be the vain type.”

“I like my hair longer, that’s all.”

They share a chuckle before the room falls quiet. They spend a lot of time in the quiet these days.

Lance looks back to Keith, expression blank. “Do you know why I’m feeling so sick?”

There’s a beat of silence as Lance’s words hang in the air. What could normally be considered your average question has Keith’s blood running cold. His eyes flick between Lance’s, checking his pupils the best he can in the low light of their cell. Another frown pulls on his lips.

That’s the third time he’s asked that question in the last week.

Keith takes a deep breath. “They gave us medicine for the food shortage. Remember that?” He doesn’t bother waiting for an answer and he peels his eyes away from Lance’s, hoping to escape the empty gaze if he can. It doesn’t sit in his gut the right way. “The Galra call it Dhollek. It’s a part of the side effects. You get nauseous and I go bald.”

Lance hums a low, scratchy sound. “Megamind was hot. I have a thing for balding men.”

The comment was funny the first time. Forcing a smile on his lips just in case Lance is looking, Keith nods his head and stifles a yawn. He stares at the opposite wall for a few minutes, letting his consciousness drift as he begins to separate himself from his body. 

As his mind wanders, Keith grows lax, and eventually, he’s nodding off. Every few seconds, he jerks, hoping to shock himself awake so he doesn’t faceplant into the floor, and each time Lance jumps with him before settling back into something more comfortable.

Then, he rests his head on Keith’s shoulder. Deliberately.

Keith’s stomach rolls again, but...it isn’t exactly unpleasant this time around. It must be the exhaustion talking.

“Next time” – Lance yawns – “don't crawl all the way over here. Your body is all sorts of fucked up, man. I can’t imagine how much pain you’re in.”

Nudging Lance with his shoulder, Keith finds a genuine smile curling on his face. “Don’t say stupid things, then,” says Keith as he lets his eyes fall shut. Somehow, that makes it a lot easier for his heart to open up. “It’s you and me, Lance. Got it?”

Lance leans in closer. “Yeah, we’re a team, Mullet. How could I forget?”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys!! i hope you guys are doing well in this (clenches teeth) fine year of 2020. please stay safe, wash your hands, wear a mask, social distance, blah blah blah. you've heard it all before. i just hope you're taking it easy when you can. it's one punch after another with humanity right now, isn't it? gods.
> 
> if you were hoping for a yeehaw update, i'm sorry! i'm still working on the chapter, and life's been wild since i'm moving houses. i haven't had the time or energy to work with that stuff right now. i want to make sure it's as perfect as it can be! so instead of that fic, you get another part of this communication series! i hope you liked the first chapter. the last fic in the series is no way related to this one, though, so don't worry about reading it if you haven't already.
> 
> anyway, sorry for the angst. this fic is 100% me projecting onto things because, surprise! i'm processing my own trauma, too! the portrayals of PTSD here may not be entirely accurate to how others experience it as i'm just using my own symptoms as a reference, so keep that in mind. also as i do in my other long fic, triggers for the next chapter will be on the top a/n on the next page when it's posted. keep an eye out for those!
> 
> i'm not gonna jinx myself and say i'll have the last chapter out within the week, but i'm hoping i won't take ages to write it. this fic is meant to be on the shorter side so i can get used to completing projects again, as well as practice because it's been a hot minute since i wrote anything.
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are always appreciated. you can also send me an ask on tumblr, a dm on instagram, or @ me on twitter and i'll probably get so excited i die. regardless, i love hearing feedback and your thoughts on my stories! it means a lot to me when y'all talk about what you think is going on. 
> 
> i hope you enjoyed! thank you so much for reading. i'll see you soon!!
> 
> \- cato
> 
> [tumblr](https://stargulch.tumblr.com) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/stargulch) | [instagram](https://instagram.com/stargulch)


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